With All the Love I Had
by honkforcanada
Summary: Craig thought bitterly of that phrase, opposites attract. It wasn't an attraction, though. It was more like gravity. He thought of the universe, how the planets were billions, trillions of miles from each other…but if one moved too far or too close, then…he wasn't an astronomer, but he remembered reading somewhere that it was bad. So he did not move that fatal inch. He watched.
1. Prelude

There were a number of things Craig Tucker did not do, and among these was sleep. Instead, he watched; he sat and watched from his window, the sill dusty and covered with old film and Red Racer figurines, rusted binoculars pressed to tired eyes, crosshair pinned on some unsuspecting civilian down below.

Sometimes he read. He read novels, poetry, old newspapers and magazines – anything he could get his hands on. A lot of the time, he thought, he just looked at the words. He liked how they looked. He never seemed to learn from any of it.

But that was how everything was to Craig, wasn't it? He looked at it, examined it, picked it apart bit by bit and scrutinized it, but he never understood. Some minds, he had decided, weren't meant for certain things. He had trouble looking at things as a whole. He could pinpoint every detail of something, but he could never explain it.

He had memorized Kenny McCormick, from the hue of his blue eyes and the faint freckles on his nose and all the little habits he had. Craig did not like that he knew so much about him, and it frustrated him that, as much as he watched, he would never understand.

He had few memories of talking to Kenny. Most of them were from his childhood, but they were clear in his mind.

And when he thought of the past, all he could see was a laughing child, grass-stained knees. All he could see was innocence, something pure – which was ironic, because now he was really all but that. He wouldn't see what had gone wrong, or where it happened, and he often wondered about this, but there was always that something in the back of his mind that told him he was better off not knowing.

How could a person be so cold? No, cold wasn't the word. That would require something to be there in the first place – and he wasn't even that. It was just emptiness. How could someone be so empty? What had drained him?

Craig didn't care. He didn't even care that he was so cold, so callous and heartless. That's what made him that way to begin with, wasn't it? If he cared, he wouldn't need to care about how he was because he wouldn't be that way at all.

Some people, though – some people cared too much, he thought, and this returned him to the topic of Kenny McCormick, who was always happy or sad or drunk or some kind of extremity. It seemed tiring to be that way; but Craig hardly felt anything at all and he was always tired.

You'd think a person would just crack after so much. Someone could only carry burdens so heavy until they fell beneath the weight. But Kenny never crumbled under the insults, the bad grades, the bad friends, the poverty. Everyone knew. Everyone knew about he and his little sister, his drunk, deadbeat parents; but no one knew better of it than Craig.

It was weird, really, that the quiet boy, the private one, would take such an interest in the kid whose business everyone knew. He had few secrets. He wore his heart on his sleeve, had little shame, and didn't blink when his personal affairs were spouted by his friends, tossed around the town with an indisputable feeling of insignificance. No one cared. It was just something to talk about. For whatever reason, Kenny felt satisfaction from this.

Craig thought bitterly of that phrase, opposites attract. It wasn't an attraction, though. It was more like gravity, how they seemed to run into each other, how they knew each other without saying anything at all. He thought of the universe, how the planets were billions, trillions of miles from each other…but if one moved too far or too close, then…

He wasn't an astronomer, but he remembered reading somewhere that it was bad. So he did not move that fatal inch. He watched. He watched from his window, gathered gossip and chatter like old coins or stamps, listened to the kids at school, and those stolen moments and overheard gossip were all he knew of Kenny McCormick.

* * *

A/N: i only have a vague idea of where this is going, so bear with me. this chapter was pretty dumb, but a good source of background. this was very difficult to write...hopefully it'll get easier!


	2. Déjà Vu

_He watched as he walked, an orange hooded figure prancing through the rain. He knew he shouldn't look, he shouldn't care, but his eyes are fixed on the boy, his hands searching blindly, idly, for a camera._

_Kenny stopped suddenly in the middle of the road and tilted his head back, maybe to catch some of the cold rain on his tongue. Hair soaked, drenched in dirty rainwater, he stood there. Out of the corner of his eye, Craig could see a strange light, but his eyes were glued somewhere else._

_He was half tempted to open his window, to shout something into the storm, when it happened. The light in the corner of his eye grew brighter and brighter until he realized it was the headlights of a car heading directly towards that dancing figure._

_Click._

Craig had a dream that night, though when he woke up he had no memory of it: only a throbbing headache and an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

Nonetheless, he still managed to drag himself to school that day. School wasn't something Craig cared for, but he didn't hate it. It would be too much energy to hate – _wouldn't it?_ – and Craig simply didn't have the motivation.

If he liked a class, he would do the work. He liked math, mostly because it made sense to him and he was good at it, and he liked his art class. He did not like Health Education, which was a mandatory class for all sophomores attending South Park High School. In fact, he sat in the back of his class and slept or read or doodled idly on his empty notebook. The people who sat back there with him also didn't care, like Kenny and Cartman and Stan fucking Marsh, who he hated with all his being, and it seemed to be a good balance.

The teacher would rant about not doing drugs or drunk driving and Craig would stay quiet. It worked out for the both of them. From the bits of sentence Craig picked up between pages of doodles, it sounded like he was talking about teen pregnancy today.

Class progressed first from a number of statistics pertaining to pregnant teenagers, then a passionate lecture on premarital sex, and finally the passing around of a large tub of condoms, half of which Kenny stuffed in his parka, to the classes' amusement. When he passed the tub back to Craig, he peeked in, rolled his eyes, and continued to not pay attention, until something else earned his notice.

"Eric Cartman, Wendy Testaburger – "

Immediately, there was a reaction from the class. It was loud enough to get Craig's attention just in time for his name to be called.

Kenny snapped out of whatever he had been doing and turned around to face Craig. He asked something, but he could only catch the questioning tone. He made the safe assumption that he was asking why his name had been called.

Craig didn't know why Kenny's name or anyone else's had been called, so he said, "I don't know."

"What was that?" he asked again, more audibly, blue eyes squinted as though trying to figure out something.

Craig shrugged. He never paid attention. (Well, to be completely honest, he could hold attention if the topic interested him, but teen pregnancy and fake baby dolls did not interest him in the slightest, so when Kenny McCormick and his pretty face turned around for answers as to what was going on, Craig could do nothing but shrug.)

Kenny frowned, eyes still lost, and muttered about how he'd heard their names called. Craig shrugged again. He just wanted to sleep. Fuck physical education, fuck teen pregnancy. He wasn't going to get pregnant. Instead of paying attention from this point, if only to figure why his name had been called along with Kenny McCodmick's, he focused his thoughts on how much he fucking hated this class and how little he'd use any of these skills.

The teacher dropped an infant-sized doll on his desk. _Tch._ Like Craig Tucker would ever have kids.

He gathered all the remaining energy he had to move his eyes – grey, bloodshot, half-lidded with fatigue – to meet the piece of plastic. He narrowed his gaze. _No. Not this._ Kenny snorted and prodded the thing like it was some sort of foreign object. An alien. It may of well have been. _Even South Park's education system, _Craig thought, _was better than this._

"For the next two weeks…"

_If this is really happening – so God help me – I will kill this guy right here and now._

"…you'll see what it's like to be a parent."

No, it was. It really fucking was, and his partner was no other than Kenny McCormick. How, he wondered, it was that the two poorest, least nurturing, and fucked up kids got paired up, he wasn't sure. The only thing Craig was sure of at this present moment was that he would not be doing this project.

His eyes fell locked on the doll while the remaining names were called. The bell rang, eventually, and Craig was grateful because this class and this teacher were successfully getting him on edge, which didn't happen often. Craig Tucker did not like children. He did not like group projects. He didn't like working as a whole, and he wasn't even sure if he liked Kenny McCormick.

Now, Craig wasn't a pleasant person; he preferred to be left alone, with some exceptions. Kenny McCormick may have been one of these exceptions, on a normal day. Craig would have been intrigued by a conversation with him, actually. But when Kenny approached him after class, an urgent look in his eyes, Craig knew this would not be a pleasant or intriguing conversation.

"Craig Tucker," Kenny drew out the name like he was trying out the sound of it, like he was seeing how it felt in his mouth.

Craig didn't have to ask what he was being approached about. Kenny had never made friendly conversation with him before and he wasn't going to begin now. He wanted something. No, he _needed_ something.

"I'm not doing the project," Craig said.

"Come on,"

"Not doing it."

Kenny took a deep breath and pursed his lips. His playfulness was gone. "Look, I really need the grade or, or – I'm gonna fail or something. I'm not smart. I can't do this on my own." He looked down at the doll in his arms, hanging limp, and Craig couldn't help but feel a pang of what he assumed was pity.

There was a long pause in the conversation. Craig could tell it was making Kenny uncomfortable.

"Fine." That was all he could bring himself to say.

And, just like that, like God and Jesus and all the angels had somehow shone down their divine light and cured Kenny McCormick, his eyes lit up and his pouting lips turned to a bright, teeth-bearing smile. Hallelujah, it was a miracle. God bless Craig Tucker.

"Awesome! Okay, uhm," Kenny trailed off, glancing back down at the baby doll, though not as pathetically this time. "I'll take her for now—"

"Her?"

"—and tomorrow, come to my house after school and we can work on stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Y'know, parent stuff."

"Oh," Craig said, though he didn't really understand what there was to this project. It was simple: you had a doll for a couple weeks and you had to try your best not to destroy it. He had to admit, he didn't listen to a damned thing that teacher said, but he couldn't imagine there could be more to keeping the baby in one piece.

If Craig really didn't want to do this project, he wouldn't have. His curiosity was getting the best of him, perhaps. He wasn't sure what to think.

Kenny seemed glad, though. He gave a quick nod, slung his backpack over his shoulder and secured the baby in his free arm. "Tomorrow, then!" he called.

"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow."

* * *

When Craig got home that afternoon, he found a picture on his window sill, next to his binoculars. It was a polaroid that had developed overnight: a hazy figure, a blur of orange developed onto the film. A mistake. A photo that hadn't developed right. He tossed it in the box that he kept under his bed.

He did not go people watching that night, and he slept as he usually did: lightly and without dreaming. When he woke, he did not have that odd sense of déjà vu.


	3. Hindsight

It was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon when Craig reached the front door of the McCormick household. The handle was wobbly, the doorbell long out of service; the frame shook when he knocked. He took a step back as the door swung open and a small girl stood in the entry.

"Are you here for Kenny?" she asked. She was about his sister's age but much smaller. He knew Kenny had two siblings, Karen and Kevin, though he wasn't sure where he learned this. He could only assume this was Karen.

Craig nodded in reply.

"I think he has some friends over," Karen said, leading him up to a door made of beaten wood and plastered with posters of _Playboy_ models and NASCAR drivers.

When Karen skipped away, Craig made the mistake of creaking the door open slightly, just enough to see clearly into the bedroom. And he could attest to the fact that, yes, Kenny McCormick most definitely had some friends over. Very good friends, in fact.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, instinctively taking a step back and then closing the door behind him very slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself. _Jesus Christ._ He'd gotten out of there so fast that he hadn't been able to count the amount of girls, but there were more than enough of them.

Craig had taken a seat on the floor, propping himself up against a wall which he had deemed much too thin, not nearly soundproof enough, when Kenny emerged about fifteen minutes later. He counted four girls that followed him. Craig couldn't figure why, but this made him uncomfortable – maybe it was the atmosphere of the McCormick's home, or the fact that he felt slightly voyeuristic, or just the simple knowledge that there was human contact happening, which he had never liked. He didn't care what those girls did with their bodies. All bizarre fascination aside, he didn't care what Kenny did, either. Still, he was bothered. He took a step into the room, now free of girls and sex, without saying anything. Kenny followed behind him.

He didn't want to sit anywhere after what he'd just seen, especially on the bed, so he remained standing. His eyes were glued to the floor

"That's disgusting," was all Craig said. It wasn't with the intention of hurting anybody, necessarily, but his eyes were so cold, he easily could have. Kenny feigned sorrow.

"Oh, Craig, you're breaking my heart."

He stepped over various pieces of trash – old ripped magazines and dirty clothes – in a desperate search of their goddamned project. He tried his best to block out anything Kenny was saying, but he wasn't proving successful.

"Why're you so angry? Are you jealous?"

And, of course, Craig rolled his eyes, because the idea sounded ridiculous to him. He knelt down and uncovered the doll beneath a few beer cans and a very large bra. He grimaced, but picked up the baby regardless, and suddenly Kenny was in his face again.

"Okay, just let me ask: are you jealous of me or _them_?"

Craig focused himself on doing a quick check of the baby. It had all of its limbs, thankfully, and besides a few spots of dirt, it was generally okay. He'd never cared about school projects, but he was supposed to care about this one and so he was going to do a good job. That's just how he was. If he was going to put time into something, he figured he may as well do a good job. Kenny's questions were simple background noise, static, and he responded deadpan and automatically.

Craig did something that shocked Kenny. He asked, grey eyes narrowed, "Who do you think I'm jealous of?"

And without a second of hesitation, a grin plastered to his face, Kenny answered, "_Them_."

Craig didn't know what Kenny was expecting from the conversation, but he decided to end the fun there. Kenny knew full well what he expected and he had to admit that he was disappointed in the change of topic.

"So what do we have to do for this project?"

"I dunno,"

"You're the one who wants to do it."

Kenny shrugged. "Sorry, I guess."

Without looking up from the baby he was now crouched on the floor holding, Craig flipped him off.

"Hey! Don't flip me off, Tucker."

"How are you supposed to pass this fucking project if you don't know what to _do?_"

"I dunno," Kenny repeated. "I'm no good at this stuff."

The baby doll began to cry and Craig nearly threw it onto the ground.

"_Oh my God_," Craig groaned, "it makes noise. Why is it making noise."

"It does that a lot. Gimme it."

Craig tossed it across the room and Kenny leaned forward to catch it in his arms. He rocked it back and forth and the crying got quieter. Then he started to talk again, very quietly.

"Yeah, so, pretty much, it just cries like every hour or so." He eyed the baby, which had now stopped completely, and carefully set it down on the bed next to him. "Or when it gets moved around a lot or if stuff gets loud. There's a sensor in it or something," he shrugged. "Fucking technology. I don't get it. It's not even like a real baby, it doesn't eat or play or nothin', just cries."

Craig still didn't know why he had to be here, so he was still less than pleasant.

"Wait," Craig interrupted, his voice monotone as usual. "So I came all the way over here on a Friday afternoon," he paused, narrowing his eyes, "to walk in on your creepy sex party," another pause for emphasis, "and for you to tell me that our baby doll _cries._"

"You know, Craig Tucker, I think that's the most I've ever heard you say in one go!"

"Not what I asked."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

"I don't care."

Kenny pouted. "You know what? You really are an asshole, Craig."

Craig didn't even think to protest. He just nodded, stood up from the ground, and said, "Yup." Sixteen years old and if he knew one thing about himself it was that he was an asshole.

There were a few long moments of silence where Kenny's face twisted into an expression of complete bewilderment and Craig stared onward. Kenny was the one to speak first. "You're not even gonna argue with me?"

"No."

For a second, there was a mischievous spark in Kenny's eyes, a promise of something interesting to come, and Craig only cocked his head in question. He pushed it to the back of his mind and dismissed the thought, turning his attention back to the project.

"So," Craig said, wanting to break the silence that had settled again. "We can just switch days. I'll take it tonight, you take it tomorrow."

Kenny shrugged, a sort of disappointment in the gesture. "No parent stuff?"

"What," the word wasn't a question – it was a statement, a remark, if anything.

"Don't ask. Just – just do it, okay? What're you doing Saturday?"

"Nothing…important, I guess."

"You're mine then, Tucker!" His face lit up, teeth showing behind a smirk, and Craig shrugged.

* * *

_There was something,_ Craig thought as he walked home that night, baby doll squeezed under his arm like a football_, there was something off about Kenny._

It seemed, sometimes, that he wasn't completely a part of the earth; he smiled like he knew something that no one else did, and nobody cared to ask just what that was. Craig thought he ought to do the same, and he'd been trying, but it wouldn't leave him alone.

He collapsed onto his bed, careful to place to baby next to him without setting it off. He thought of the weird picture he'd found just the other day – an orange blur of sorts, distorted amongst heavy rain. He tried to remember what he was doing the night he took it.

Two days ago. Tuesday night. It was raining – no, pouring. It had been a thunderstorm, and he was at his window for something. Something important.

There was the thunder, a dusty windowsill, an orange jacket soaked in rainwater…bright lights, no, headlights, and a horn. A car, a deafening sound, screeching wheels on slippery asphalt, and blood, so much blood, a flash, a click, and a boy in the street, alone, in the middle of it all, hidden in orange, bleeding, crying for help –

The baby began to wail, shattering Craig's deep thought. With a sigh, he leaned over to pick it up.


	4. Tongue Tied

Craig always spent his Fridays with Clyde. It had been that way since he could remember. Every Friday, Craig would go home with him and spend the night. When he was younger, it was a treat, something to look forward to every week – he was sixteen years old now and it still was. Craig was allowed a glimpse at a normal family and he got to sit down for a real meal with parents who really cared. It was a nice change.

When he was ten, he used to wait in the school parking lot for him. He would wait and wait, little fifth-grade feet slung over the curb, Red Racer lunchbox in hand, for the Donovans to pick him up from school. If Clyde had football practice, he waited. If they forgot him, he waited. Every Friday.

Mrs. Donovan would pull up to the curb, sometimes with Clyde already in the car, sometimes not; and that was Craig's favorite, when he had those few moments of undivided attention from a parent who cared. In elementary school, he would climb into the car, see her smile at him, and he knew. She would ask little things –_how was your day at school, Craig?_ or_, how's Stripe doing?_ – and he knew that this was what it felt like to be loved unconditionally, even if it was for a few fleeing minutes, for a few sentences. Every Friday.

It wasn't something he needed to survive, but he enjoyed it, and he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Saturday mornings were usually spent at the Donovan's, eating homemade chocolate chip pancakes and watching cartoons; Craig and Clyde did this even as they grew older, even as teenagers, and they sat in their pajamas on the couch, eating breakfast in front of the television. This Saturday, though, he exchanged Red Racer pajama pants for a jeans and a coat, pulled his hat over mussy black hair, and left early to meet Kenny at the park.

They met around noon. Kenny had brought a trashed old stroller and he pushed it around with some sort of dignified pride that Craig couldn't imagine ever deriving from something so destroyed. But there he was, strolling around, proudly displaying his dirty baby doll and beaten-down toy stroller like it was his pride and joy.

"Ever think you're taking this too seriously?" Craig remarked.

"Impossible, Tucker."

"I don't think you get extra credit for actually convincing yourself that it's a real baby."

Kenny had stopped suddenly, as if he'd forgotten altogether why he was here, and then he smiled like a kid and kindly asked Craig to just shut the fuck up and walk with him, for the love of God.

And they walked like that for a while, in silence, the wheels of the stroller making steady noise on the sidewalk, faltering slightly on bumps and cracks in the cement. Kenny would glance down at the doll every once in the while, give it a loving look, and Craig would sneer but he didn't speak.

They eventually sat down at a bench, where they stayed in the quiet. Kenny put his hand on Craig's, and Craig turned to speak, but before he could say anything, the hand darted away and Kenny spoke quickly, almost nervously, to fill in the emptiness.

"You lucky bitch," Kenny said to the doll, leaning back on the bench as if nothing had happened. "I never got any of this stuff when I was a kid."

"Me neither," Craig half-muttered, trying to wrap his mind around what the purpose of this outing was. If this was what Kenny had meant by 'parent stuff' he was confused. "You mean most kids are supposed to?"

Kenny laughed a cold laugh in a tone that called Craig a fool, and he said, "We're so fucked up. My parents never did any of this. Shit, they didn't even try."

Craig exhaled a long "_oooh_," a mark of a great discovery. "That's why you wanted to do this dumb shit?" It was a strange coping mechanism, he supposed, but so was stalking people from your window, so he didn't say anything more on it.

"It's not dumb, I didn't get it and look at me." He gave Craig a look that said, _And you didn't get it either, did you?_ It was probably the most polite way to call his family dysfunctional. Craig couldn't mind, though. It was true, his family wasn't near right.

"I guess," he admitted, "my family just fucked me up in a different way."

Craig was met with understanding eyes. Kenny could read people well, and those eyes of his saw right through him and his front. Craig wasn't empty, not really. He was a terrified little kid, just like the rest of South Park. He had his fears, his nightmares; he worried over little things sometimes, late at night, and he didn't understand a thing but he tried relentlessly to. That's why he had that damned camera of his, to people watch, to figure things out. He _studied_ people, goddamn it, he studied them like textbooks, like the Bible, like his life depended on it, and he never learned a thing and he hated it and he was so, so afraid.

He wondered if Kenny knew. He looked like he knew. Craig was afraid that it all showed on his face; all the things he wouldn't say, couldn't say, Craig was afraid Kenny heard anyway.

– _I'm so scared sometimes –_

Craig stared into the big blue eyes, eyes that had probably seen too much. Kenny cocked his head like he was waiting for Craig to say something, but the both of them knew there was nothing to be said.

– _Jesus Christ you're pretty –_

It took him a second to figure who had kissed who.

– _well I hope to God it wasn't me –_

It was over before Craig could even begin to think about it, and the next thing he saw was Kenny's face, bright and grinning.

– _wait wait wait what are you grinning at what did I do –_

With a second to spare, Craig forbade himself from reacting to anything that had just happened. The expression on his face was probably one of complete bewilderment, and speaking or doing anything at all wouldn't help his situation.

– _if only my head would stop spinning then I could –_

He didn't move, didn't breathe, only stared on, cold eyes squinted, like the answer was in front of him, like if he looked hard and close enough, he would understand.

– _figure this out maybe –_

Wheels were trying to turn, his mind scrambling to come to some kind of a conclusion, but his wits were at a halt.

– _I don't fucking get you I really don't get you –_

Craig was a quiet person, and this was why: words always seemed to fail him. He couldn't find anything useful, anything important to say about most things, so he stayed quiet. In times like these, he knew, speaking was the last thing he should do. He was never good with words, what with his simple vocabulary and nasally voice that never seemed to change tone. More than often, he didn't _allow_ himself to speak, he didn't find it wise, but something pushed itself past that filter and through his lips, "Why did you do that?"

Kenny shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "'Cause I wanted to."

That was such a stupid and perfectly logical reason to do something.

Craig had kissed plenty of times before; he'd done much more than that. But he'd never kissed someone for the sake of the gesture and the sentimental value attached to it – only for the purpose of raw, selfish pleasure. He'd kissed drunken girls at parties for an easy one night stand; he'd kissed people for free drinks at a bar he'd snuck into; but he'd never kissed his mother goodnight, never kissed his sister when she was crying over a boy who'd been careless with her heart.

They didn't speak of the kiss again that day (just the thought of it made Craig uncomfortable) and it was dark when Kenny walked Craig to his house, still pushing that old stroller. It wasn't hard to keep conversation with Kenny, he found; the both of them spoke what was on their mind, bouncing topics off of each other, until they found something that kept them interested.

Occasionally, Kenny's glance would flicker out past by driveways, into the street. It wasn't busy; South Park wasn't a busy town, necessarily, but a car would pass and Kenny always seemed to flinch at it. When he turned back to Craig, his eyes were wide and urgent.

They were turning the corner to Craig's street when Kenny said, "So you're into photography, right?"

"How did you know that?" Craig had been in the elective at school, sure, and he'd been the proud producer of a show back in elementary school, but he'd never openly told anyone about the extent of his hobby. He may have tried to bring it up around his friends, but they pushed it off, and he didn't care to tell anyone else.

"I see you with that camera all the damn time, spying on people out of your window."

"Oh," Craig deadpanned. "Yeah, I do that."

They started to walk up his driveway, onto his front porch, where they both stopped to continue talking.

"You're a creep."

"I don't mean to be."

"It's okay. It's kind of cool, actually,"

"You think so?" Craig asked, and he was met with another question:

"Can you show me sometime?"

"Okay," he said, absent-mindedly. He'd never, ever showed anyone, and it was a little frightening to think about, but Kenny seemed like someone he could trust and – what did he have to lose?

Finally, Kenny shrugged, parked the stroller right next to Craig, and turned to walk back down his driveway. He stopped just before the road, turned backwards and shouted something – "Night, Fucker!" – before shoving his hands into the pockets of his parka and taking a step back into the street. A pair of lights illuminated the entire street (the dashed yellow lines trailed down the asphalt, his neighbor's houses, _the orange-clad blonde boy standing in the street_) and he turned to look at the car, shuffled his feet at just the perfect time, threw his arms into the air.

Kenny stumbled forward as the driver slammed on its breaks, honked, and sped off down the road.

Craig could have sworn, for a second, he felt his heart stop. But just like that, Kenny composed himself, waved a hand in the air, and disappeared into the dark.

* * *

**A/N:** i just wanted to make a quick thank you note for everyone that has reviewed, favorited, followed, or just read this. i'm pretty surprised by the response i've gotten, so thank you all so much! it means a lot to me that people are taking the time to read my writing.

on another note, i have no idea where this fic is going and it's a little scary. i just made a tumblr for all of my writing and ranting and stuff so if you want, go and follow me. my username is honkforcanada. as a final note i'd like to point out HOW HORRIBLE I AM AT NAMING CHAPTERS okay


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